


Three Times A Lady

by Jacqueline_64



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s04e22 Sweet Revenge, F/M, Gen, Missing Scenes, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25096438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacqueline_64/pseuds/Jacqueline_64
Summary: How three ladies, who had up and close experiences with Starsky, reacted to the news of him getting nearly killed in a failed assassination attempt.
Kudos: 12





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Although not a part of my Post Sweet Revenge, Post Gunther Files, Roller Coaster series, I do use those series as point of reference for this stand alone story, by which I mean that all literary liberties are the same as in those series and stories.

The most used disclaimer:  
The TV show "Starsky and Hutch", and the characters from it  
are the property of the persons who hold the copyrights  
and other legal rights to them.  
This story is a work of fiction, written for pleasure only  
and not for profit. It is not intended, in any way,  
to infringe on these preexisting copyrights.

#  **Three Times A Lady**

Jacqueline©2020-06-19

## ONE

**May 17, 1979 – 8:30 PM, LAPD HQ**

“Hey, partner, you still here? I thought you’d signed out an hour ago!” Detective Dobson addressed his colleague in a surprised tone.

“I know….. this paperwork took a lot longer than I thought it would….. Which reminds me; you were still going to give me those receipts you confiscated from that accountant!”

“Shoot, you’re right,” Dobson replied,  
“Give me a second,” and he left the squad room at the same moment LAPD chief Hubbard walked in.

He casually dropped the evening paper on one of the desks before heading for the door to his office, turned and told Dobson’s partner,  
“I really appreciate your dedication to this case, but don’t burn the candle on both ends, okay? When I come out of my office in about 30 minutes, I don’t want to see you here anymore, you got that, Detective?”

“Yes, sir!”

Hubbard entered his office and Dobson returned with the receipts his partner had asked for.  
“Here you go. I stuck them together, so they won’t get lost. Now, will you just put that file in a drawer and go home already? Come on!”

“Yeah, yeah,” his partner muttered on the way to the door, then noticed the newspaper Hubbard had left on a desk,  
“Do you think the boss will mind if I take his paper home with me?

“Nah,” Dobson answered as he held the door open,  
“He’ll just be happy you finally went home!”

The partners entered the LAPD basement garage, said their goodbyes and got into their respective cars.

As she put the newspaper on the passenger seat, Detective Meredith’s eyes caught the headline of one of the articles on the front page.

BCPD DETECTIVE SURVIVES ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT

Her heart practically stopped as she picked up the paper with trembling hands and squinted to read the article in the scarce light of the garage. Before finishing the article, she started her car and sped out of the garage in the opposite direction of her house.

**May 17, 1979 – 10:42 PM, Memorial Hospital Bay City**

She entered the hospital entrance hall way past visiting hours and was stopped by a hospital security guard. She had flashed her badge, but that had not made an impression on the man.  
Meredith realized how unprofessional and unlike her always rational and focused character her actions of the last few hours had been. But she couldn’t help herself. She had to see him.

So her emotions went into overdrive and she started to make a scene. It wasn’t an act, like when she was teamed up with Detective Sergeant first grade David Michael Starsky, and she played bad cop to his good cop when interrogating the teen suspect. This time, it was all real. Every part of her screamed the need to see him, if only one more time.

A man carrying an attaché case came out of one of the elevators and walked towards the reception desk, then noticed the commotion. He approached the security guard and attractive young woman who were obviously in disagreement about something.

“……. I won’t take no for an answer….. Call your supervisor…… I have to see Detective Starsky!”

“Ma’am, you……”

“Detective!”

“Sorry, Detective. Visiting hours are over. You can come back tomorrow. Now, please ….”

“I drove all the way over from LA to see him and I can’t come back tomorrow …. I need to ….”

“Excuse me,” the man interrupted the pair,  
“Did you say you came to see Detective Starsky?”

The beautiful young woman looked at the man with the attaché case.  
“That’s right ….. I know he was shot and that he’s in intensive care here,” she told the man.

He nodded reassuringly at the security guard, then addressed the young woman,  
“Are you related to Detective Starsky in any way?” he asked her.

“Yes ….. No, …. Not exactly. We were ….. we ….. worked together on a case …. We’re ….friends,” she said, then noticed the looks that the man exchanged with the security guard.  
“Look,” she rummaged through her purse and got out her wallet. Then she proceeded to show the men her badge as well as a small photograph of when she and Starsky were presented with a commendation by Captain Dobey.

The man with the attaché case studied her intensely for a moment, then presented his hand,  
“I’m Dr. Jamison. Detective Starsky is in my care.”

She sighed with relief and shook his hand,  
“Joan Meredith, Detective LAPD. How is he?”

As he led her towards some of the seats, Jamison replied,  
“He’s seriously injured, but alive. You understand I cannot divulge any more information than has been made public.”

Meredith nodded in understanding.  
“So, I read he’s in a coma?”

“Yes.”

She looked at the floor before looking Dr Jamison straight in the eyes,  
“I know I don’t have a right to, but could I at least see him …… if only for a minute?”

Jamison slowly shook his head in polite refusal, but when his eyes met Meredith’s something tugged at his heart. He contemplated as he noticed that tears were welling up in her eyes, then stood up, held out his hand to her and said,  
“One minute, and don’t tell anybody!”

They took the elevator up to ICU on the sixth floor and stood side by side in front of the window of ICU station one.

There, Meredith could see the still form of the man with whom she had shared such a brief, but intense, period of her life, both professionally and privately.

That strong, athletic, body was now covered in bandages, hooked up to a ventilator and tons of other equipment and IV’s. His face, the face that had immediately attracted her long before the man himself had touched her heart, was barely visible. The hair, the full, thick and luscious curls the only part of his body that seemed unchanged.

She swallowed hard, before asking,  
“What are his chances, doctor?”

“Too soon to tell,” Jamison answered, then looked at her before softly admonishing her,  
“I’m sorry, Detective, but I’m afraid you must go now. You can leave your name and address, so I can ask his relatives and Captain to keep you informed.”

She looked at him, and smiled as a few tears fell from her eyes,  
“No, thank you …. I’ll uh, I’ll contact them myself.” She held out her hand to Jamison.  
“Thank you so much for ….. for allowing me to see him.” After one more look through the window, she turned and started walking towards the elevators, then stopped.  
“Please, take good care of him ….. he’s a good man, he deserves the best.”

On the walk over to her car, she cried and prayed out loud that Starsky would survive, then sat down behind the wheel for the drive back to LA.


	2. TWO

## TWO

**  
** **May 15, 1979 – 3:01 PM, NEWSDESK BAY CITY DISPATCH**

“What ya got, Al? Could you get close?”

“Not as close as I wanted …… It actually happened on the parking lot, so they had it cordoned off in no time….”

“……. Well? Come on, man, give me an impression!”

“I got there … well, no, let me start at the beginning. See, I was on my way back here from that robbery scene on Franklin? That didn’t pan out, so I was driving back here, thinking I wasted too much time on something that wouldn’t be worth even half a column on page 5 when I had to get out of my lane because a police car came from the opposite side heading straight for my car. It was all damaged and cut up on the driver’s side and it came out of Delaney street, which I knew is …….”

“That’s all Metro law enforcement issued parking. Yeah, go on…..”

“Right, so I saw more black and whites immediately coming out of Delaney in pursuit of that car, the damaged one. I realized something big had to be up, so I parked across from Delaney and ran over there ….. I could see a lot of commotion out there. The gate was still open and I just … you know …. Sorta slid in there. I had a good view for quite some time, until an ambulance arrived and one of the cops noticed me and shoved me out of there and they closed the gate. I thought I’d wait in the car and then follow the ambulance to the hospital, but it didn’t come out for quite a while ….. I asked some of the folks near Metro if they knew what happened, but no luck …”

“So, where’s the story? I didn’t hear anything yet that would make me decide in favor of this one instead of the Franklin one!”

“It’s who was shot! I got a pretty good look at him for about half a minute ….. I’m positive it was one of those two detectives we reported on recently. You know, the ones that got re-instated by the mayor!”

“Seriously? Are you sure?”

“I think so. Unless they have another white guy with a big afro and a blond partner with a moustache! His partner by the way was in a state of shock. He was sitting on the ground, close to the injured one, with a Magnum in his hand. For a while there I thought he was the one that had shot him……. Now, that would have been some story, right? Front page stuff!”

“Facts, Al! No conjectures on the front page! Now, so far the story is that this detective who’s just been re-instated was shot on the BCPD parking lot. Try to bulk up the story so we can run it on the front page. See who of the field guys is near Metro and let them find out more to fill in some gaps. Do you know how badly injured he is?”

“Well, his blue jeans weren’t blue anymore, that’s for sure.”

“Okay, you start this one up and I’ll ask Jim to …. Hey Jim, get in here …. Where were you going?”

“I just got a call from somebody who was near Metro during the shooting.”

“Jesus, how near?”

“Let’s just say the shooters almost ran over him as they drove off.”

“Damn. Okay, you go get that info, take your camera with you and try to get some shots of the parking lot. See if Lee is available to go to the hospital to find out more.”

“I’d think you’d send him to the morgue.”

“That cop who got shot died? Has that been verified?”

“I gotta protect my source, but the guy who called me said the cop who got shot was detective Starsky …. One of the ….”

“Yeah, we know, the mayor re-instated him and his partner … He died?”

“Apparently he died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.”

The three men looked at each other.

“You still go over there, Jim, try to get as accurate information as possible. Al, you write your eyewitness account as the lead. Somehow I feel like I’ve heard about these guys in a different context than them getting re-instated by the mayor……”

**May 15, 1979 – 3:19 PM, EDITORIAL DESK BAY CITY DISPATCH**

“Chris, I have a special assignment for you,” Jack Grayson, executive editor of the Bay City Dispatch said while walking up to the desk of the columnist.

“I’m on a deadline, Jack,” she answered, without taking her eyes off her typewriter,  
“So, it has to be pretty special for me to abandon this one.”

“I believe it is,” Grayson replied, as he dropped a file with a clipping attached to the front of it on the typewriter.

Christine Phelps scanned the clipping, before she looked up at Grayson with a confused expression,  
“What? I don’t understand……..”

“You did a couple of articles on those two detectives a while back, remember? I believe you did a ride along?”

“Yes….. So? That’s done …. Finished. How … What kind of special assignment makes you dredge up this old file?”

“The curly haired one was killed today …. At the police station ….. Was he Mutt or Jeff?” Grayson asked.

CD Phelps felt her heart skip a beat. Although her contact with both detectives had not been altogether positive all the time, in the end both of them had at least opened her eyes to the real world they operated in. She found herself gasping for air before she could talk again.

“I don’t …. I don’t remember … Killed?”

“Yeah! I want you to write the obit. Drop everything you’re working on. I want it in tonight’s edition.”

“But … But why … I mean ….”

“Because you are the only one at this newspaper who actually spent hours on end with them on their every day job…… do it as an editorial, as a column, whatever suits you best, but just do it…. The human touch, you can do it, Chris….. I know you can.” Grayson nodded at her reassuringly before heading back to his office.

Christine – CD – Phelps took the file off her typewriter and read her original column about the two detectives. Then she opened the file that contained all the research info she had acquired on the detectives before she had put in a request at Metro for a ride along. She read the follow-up column she’d written after they had saved her life and had made her realize the nuances of their tough and dangerous line of work. It seemed like only yesterday that she had rode along with them and now…. Now one of them was no more. With trembling hands she removed the article she’d been working on from the typewriter and inserted a new piece of paper.

She took a few deep breaths before she started typing Detective David Michael Starsky’s obituary.


	3. THREE

## THREE

**  
****May 15, 1979 – 5:11 PM, MEMORIAL HOSPITAL**

She wandered the hallways of the hospital whenever she felt the need and was feeling well enough. This hospital had become like a second home to her. And she knew it would be her last, too.

Normally, patients weren’t allowed to leave their floor and just walk around the entire hospital any hour of the day. But she was special, and she knew it, and she made every use of it with her sweet, old lady, charm.

She’d been admitted again a week and a half ago, a little short of four months after having been declared in remission, to everybody’s surprise. That last time, she was brought into hospital by ambulance because she suffered the most awful colicky pains. It turned out her cancer had returned, for the fourth time. They treated her. She improved during the first few days, but then grew weaker and weaker, needing a wheelchair to get around by the end of the week. They told her there was nothing they could do for her anymore and so she contacted the few relatives she had left. Then, during the second week at Memorial, the week her treating oncologist thought might be her last, she woke up one morning feeling her old self again.

The medical staff was cautious; often patients have a last surge before the final decline, but not her. She grew stronger with each hour. Her oncologist was so amazed, he ordered a full gamut of bloodwork, body scans and X-rays and was baffled to discover that all results were practically normal. A second and third opinion followed, but the results were all the same. And so, at the beginning of week 3, she left the hospital on her own two feet and was driven back home by her nephew.

She had a few very good months after that and everybody near and dear to her, was ecstatic that she had come through another crisis, like before.

But this time it was different. She hadn’t even been in pain nor had she been tired. She just felt off, but didn’t pay attention to it, shrugging it off as a symptom of old age. After all, she’d be 80 soon. So, she’d gone to her check-up at Memorial with no worries. But it took such a long time for her doctor to return to his room after she’d had her X-rays. And when he finally did return, she could read in his face that this time there would be no miraculous comeback. He had told her that the tumor had returned, on her spine this time and it was such a unique tumor that it baffled him. He had shown her the X-rays in which the tumor looked like an octopus sitting on her spine; its tentacles reaching out to ribs, hugging veins, penetrating organs. No chance to win this war.

He had asked her what she wanted to do. Her answer had been simple: she wanted to celebrate her 80th birthday at the hospital. She still went home by herself to pack her last suitcase and had returned to the hospital where she would be receiving palliative care. She knew the hospital and its staff and everybody had come to know her over the years. Two days ago she celebrated her 80th birthday with her hospital family and she was still feeling quite well, even one and one half week after receiving her death sentence.

So, she wandered around the hospital hallways in pajamas and red robe. She’d visited the maternity ward, the stroke ward and now she was in a place she hadn’t really been to before. She figured she’d stepped out of the elevator on the wrong floor and wanted to get back in, but its door was closed so she pushed the button and turned around to wait until it returned.

About 30 feet away from her, she noticed a tall figure, pacing up and down a small section of the hallway. Everything about the figure was pale, from the light hair, to the ashen skin tone, the white jacket and the faded jeans. He almost disappeared against the light colored floors and walls of the hallway.

She squinted to try and get a better look at him, for he somehow seemed familiar to her. But her 80 year old eyes failed to focus enough to clearly make out the face and besides, the elevator had returned, so she got in and pressed the button for her floor. She’d walked enough for now.

**May 15, 1979 – 9.57 PM, MEMORIAL HOSPITAL**

She’d had dinner in her room, watched some TV and would soon go to sleep. But she was feeling restless. A nurse walked into her room with her nightly doses of medication.

“Aren’t you ready for bed, yet, Mrs. Greene?” she asked.

“Yes, soon, sweetheart,” she answered.  
“Dear, can you tell me what is on the second floor?”

“The second floor?”, the nurse asked, as she drew back the blankets of the bed.  
“That’s surgery and recovery. Why?”

Mrs. Greene took her medication and signaled she wouldn’t go to bed just yet.  
“I was just curious, dear. Thank you.” She smiled warmly at the nurse while patting her on the arm.

“Just don’t go to bed too late, alright Mrs. Greene? And call if you need us for anything. Sylvia and I are on night duty until 5 AM, okay? Have a good night, Mrs. Greene.”

She watched as the nurse continued on her rounds, then stepped out of her room towards the elevators. Again, she went to the second floor of Memorial. She needed to put her mind to rest.

As she stepped into the hallway she didn’t see the figure that had been there earlier.  
“How silly of me to think he would still be here after so many hours!” she muttered to herself.

“Mrs. Greene! Why aren’t you in bed yet?” a nurse behind the desk exclaimed.

“Lorna! What are you doing on this floor?” she replied to the familiar nurse.

“I volunteered on the night shift because they were short. Now, why aren’t you in bed yet?”

“I’m a little restless, dear. I thought I saw somebody here …… earlier……Are there still people here?”

“Mrs. Greene! You know we can’t share information like that!”

“l wouldn’t want you to do that, angel. But just put my mind to rest so I know if my old eyes betrayed me or if my old mind is giving up on me, too,” she said, as her thick glasses emphasized the wide eyed innocent look she’d perfected.

The nurse shook her head, but had a smile on her face. She could not resist this sweet old lady and what harm could it do? She knew Mrs. Greene only had a short time left on this planet.

“Now, what did your old eyes make your mind think they saw?”

“A tall man, blond I think, with a white jacket. I saw him here earlier….. I think I did ….. I have a feeling I’ve seen him before….. Was he real?”

The nurse bit her bottom lip and softly answered Mrs. Greene,  
“I think I know who you mean, Mrs. Greene. He is real, you really did see him. He is a police detective and he’s waiting for his partner to come out of surgery.”

Mrs. Greene absorbed the answer and as she did, a memory of her last stay at Memorial surfaced.  
“These young men ….. they should not have to fight for their lives ….. they should live!” She sat down on a small side bench at the nurse’s station.  
“The last time I was here, there was another young policeman whose friend was shot ….. Oy, he was so worried ….. I think I calmed him down a bit, though …..” She looked up at the nurse, then patted the empty space on the bench next to her,  
“I let him sit with me and I talked to him ….. until he **had** to listen to me!” she chuckled, then sighed,  
“Such a sweet boy! ……. Did the surgery go well?”

“I’m afraid they’re still working on him.”

Just then the elevator door opened and a large, black, man stepped up to the nurse’s desk.  
“Excuse me, nurse,” he said,  
“Is there any news on Detective Starsky, yet?”

“No, sir, he’s still in surgery,” she replied.

“Is Hutch ….. I’m sorry, is detective Hutchinson still in the family room?”

“I believe so, sir.”.

It took Mrs. Greene some effort to get up from the bench, so the large man stepped forward to assist her.  
As she held on to his hands, she looked up at him and asked,  
“Does your wounded detective have dark, curly, hair?”

“Why …. Yes, ma’am”, the large man replied, with a slightly confused expression on his face.

Mrs. Green squeezed his hands and again looked up at the large man, this time with a sad, but warm, smile on her face and in her eyes,  
“I will pray for him …. He will be alright ….. he and his friend still need to save the world.”

“Thank you ma’am, but I’m afraid he will need a lot more than our prayers,” the large man replied in a despondent voice.

“I will put in a special trade for him, I have my connections,” Mrs. Greene said in a conspiratorial tone.  
“That young man will live.”

The large man politely excused himself and walked toward the family room.

The nurse studied Mrs. Greene after the peculiar scene that had just played itself out.  
“Mrs. Greene, do you know the Captain? Or the detectives?”

“I know when it’s time to go,” Mrs. Greene answered, suddenly feeling very tired. She looked at the clock above the elevators.  
“Oh dear, I should learn not to stay up past my bedtime! Have a good night, Lorna!”

The elevator door opened and Mrs. Greene stepped inside and pushed the button to her floor.

**May 16, 1979 – 2.57 PM, MEMORIAL HOSPITAL**

She had woken up later than usual, which had surprised the nurses who brought her breakfast. She blamed it on her late evening walk through the hospital herself. Breakfast did not taste as good as usual, either, which she also blamed on her late night adventure.

Around 1 PM she had gone for another walk around the hospital, but something inside her told her not to venture too far, so she was back in her room by 1.35 PM. She felt uncomfortable sitting in her chair by the window, so she took off her robe and climbed back into bed.

The daytime nurses were all familiar with Mrs. Greene, from her earlier hospital stays, and knew something was off with their sweet patient.

“Are you alright, Mrs. Greene? Can I get you something?” one of her favorite nurses asked her.

She had held the nurse’s hand and had spoken words that mystified the young woman.  
“Just tell the detective his friend will live, angel.”

Then she had smiled and closed her eyes and 10 minutes later, Hannah Greene was no more.


End file.
